Addictive
by BERRYpopsicle
Summary: Tristan is a lot darker than we think ... Different than the average story. Try it.
1. Prolouge - Tristan

*Disclaimer - I do not own Gilmore Girls. Duh.*  
  
*This is a lot different than what I usually write. A lot darker, much more hardcore and emotional. Rated R for language, sexual references and situations (maybe sex scenes, I'm not really sure yet), and drug use. There is not pairing, and I don't know if there will be. Tristan is there. Rory is there. They are two separate people, and they perfectly may stay that way.*  
  
Pan up the grand marble staircase of the DuGrey mansion. No, this isn't a script, or a movie, or a "film". The occasion simply called for a "pan". The hallway splits at the top step, and as we curve to the right, we see an open door at the end of the hall. Inside, a young man, Tristan DuGrey, sits at his bedroom desk. Although raised in the wealthy limelight of Hartford, Connecticut, as we come closer, it is obvious that Tristan is not the most law-abiding citizen.  
  
The view from over his right shoulder reveals a small weighing scale, a few small metal trays, a box of razor blades, and several plastic bags containing white powder.  
  
As we go around the cherry wood desk for a frontal viewpoint, we see his brow furrowed in concentration as he separates some of the white powder with one of the razors on a tray in front of him. Upon closer inspection, tiny beads of sweat form on his face, namely his forehead and nose, which is red around the nostrils.  
  
The phone rings, breaking the absorption in his work. "Tristan DuGrey." He answers with his trademark cocky smirk, leaning back in the uncomfortable matching chair, his free arm draped across his chest. "Yeah, man, I'm behind the scale right now." We hear one side of the conversation, although the dumbest of people could tell you what he is talking about. "I've already chalked it, you'll have it tomorrow." Tristan rolls his eyes, evidently annoyed by the unknown callers idiocy. "Have I ever lied to you?" Holding the phone away from his ear, he crouches over the desk and goes back to work. A few seconds pass, and he brings it closer again. "Exactly. And I've never let you down either, have I?" Once again, it is retracted and brought back. "See? No worries. You'll have it tomorrow." He bluntly signals the end of the conversation by hanging up the phone.  
  
"Jackass." He mutters, shaking his head. 


	2. Prolouge - Rory

*Still own nothing. Never have, never will. I also don't own Pretty Woman, Edy's, Clueless, The Princess Diaries, Oliver Twist, Eminem, Nelly, Bjork or Macy Gray. Not do I mean any offense the those who like any of the above.*  
  
*To answer your question, effie, Tristan deals and does drugs, that's why his nose was red. On another note, if I go along with what people want me to write, it won't be my story anymore. I'm not saying Rory won't have other love interests, but this isn't a Narco *shudders* and it's not a Literati, but that doesn't necessarily make it a Trory*  
  
Rory Gilmore sat at her bedroom desk, hunched over a large World History textbook that hadn't yet been informed about the fall of the Berlin Wall. Surrounding the High Honors World History book, were notebooks, sheets of looseleaf, pens, pencils, highlighters, and other texts.  
  
She sighed and glanced up, staring at the beaded lampshade of the light diagonally in front of her. Diagonally in front. Oxymoron. Oh, well.  
  
Rory fingered the maroon and magenta beads, straining to hear the television, which was softly playing "Pretty Woman". Her mother was sitting on the sofa, hair in a messy yet stylish bun, munching on popcorn and reciting every line.  
  
The thought of not having a perfect GPA often ran through Rory's thriving mind, screaming at her. She seldom wanted to live up to the teenage standard of not giving a damn, but found herself wishing that for once, she could just not care about homework. Or "forget" to study or take notes. Hell, maybe both.  
  
Just once, she wanted to not care about getting into Harvard. She wanted to be a normal teenager and neglect her schoolwork by watching "Clueless" in her pajamas, digging through a carton of Edy's Espresso Chip.  
  
Sure, things came easy for her, but that didn't mean she didn't have to study.  
  
She wanted to play volleyball, and read "The Princess Diaries" instead of "Oliver Twist". She wanted to listen to Eminem and Nelly, not Bjork and Macy Gray.  
  
She sighed once more and turned her attention back to the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand and his wife. 


End file.
